Bright Star, Sun of Laughter
by Levana Menelmacar
Summary: Corny title, I know, all will be explained. This will be a Legolas romance eventually, I just havent gotten there yet. Flames will not be accepted, if you don't like it, don't look at it. Alright? Kewl! On with the fic!
1. Default Chapter

I had always felt it. Someone was there, watching. Not necessarily waiting, just watching. I'd felt it for as long as I could remember, but I dismissed it as a childish flight of fancy, an invisible friend, as my parents did. It wasn't until I was thirteen that I got some proof of the Watcher's existence, and considering what I had to go through to get that small proof, I would have rather not known...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Just a Prologue, Friends! FYI, there won't be LotR until chapter 3, but please just stick with it!!! It will get better, I promise!!!! I swear it will be better, just read! Thank you.   
  
Let me restate my policy on flames in big, blocky letters so you can see them.  
I DO NOT ACCEPT FLAMES. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T LOOK AT IT! 


	2. Hands of the King

I drifted hazily in and out of the darkness of sleep. As I awoke, I would hear snippets of conversations, but it didn't take me long to put together what was happening in my head.  
  
"...been out too long..."  
  
"...will she wake up?"  
  
"...fever hasn't dropped..."  
  
From these, and the glimpses I caught through brief periods of opening my eyes, I gathered that I was in a hospital, and that my situation wasn't what it could, or should, be. But still, I was comforted by the Watcher's presence. He (or I thought of it as a "he". It seemed masculine to me, somehow) was still there, although I could sense that he was troubled, more so as the days went on.   
Finally, I judged I had been there for about a week when I felt my temperature abruptly begin to rise. I was fully awake for the first time, and it was getting harder to breath. I could feel the Watchers anxiety, for it appeared that there were no doctor or nurses about. I, however, was very calm. It seemed to me that I was dying, and the thought didn't trouble me as much as it probably should have. I was ready for rest.  
But rest was not mine to have, for at that moment, I could feel cool hands on my forehead, bringing my fever down drastically, and relieving my sudden headache as well. Something seemed quite intent on taking my life, for even as the cool hands brought me comfort, my chest constricted even more. I sensed that who ever my salvation was knew this, for one hand was brought down from my forehead to place itself just below my collarbone.  
Instantly I could breath, and did so in great, gasping breaths. I could still feel the hands, so I looked up to see who my savior was, and, once I got my breath back, to thank him or her.  
The room was empty to my sight.  
But even as I was about to scream, whimper, do anything to attract a nurse or a doctor, words began to weave themselves through my head.  
  
"Fear not, for I am the one you call Watcher. You do not know me, but in time you may..."  
  
I managed to gasp out in a hoarse whisper, "Who are you?"  
  
A slight chuckle reverbrated through my psyche., and these words floated through my head.  
  
"The hands of the king are the hands of a healer."  
  
And I knew no more. 


	3. Returns

Disclaimer: Alright, so I haven't mentioned any LotR characters yet, but I think you all know who the Watcher is, and I don't own him! Levana and her loving family, however, are my creations. Thank you!  
  
  
  
  
Bright Star, Sun of Laughter  
  
  
  
The hands of the king are the hands of a healer...  
  
For the millionth time since my experience three years ago, I pondered these words with no less astonishment than the first time I thought of them in the hospital.   
  
The hands of the king...  
  
I shook my head. Thinking even more about it than I already do is pointless, since it obviously wasn't getting me anywhere.  
  
"LEVANA! DOWNSTAIRS! NOW!"  
  
Ah, its time for the lovely Sunday evening dinner with my dear, dear siblings and my lovely mother.  
  
Kill me now.  
  
"I SAID NOW, YOU INGRATE!"  
  
Well, I had to hand it to her, I thought wryly as I flew down the stairs, she does have an excellent vocabulary.  
  
"What took you so long?" she demanded as soon as I set foot inside the kitchen. "After I slaved over this meal, you took too long brushing your hair or some other stupid thing like that and now its getting cold! Do you think of anyone but yourself??"  
  
I decided to remain silent this time. Usually I would have thrown back some smart-ass comment, but I've found that sometimes being silent throws her off more than saying something. Luckily for me, it worked this time and she just told me to shut up and eat.  
I took a seat beside my youngest sister, who was fourteen. Like the other three, she had perfect auburn ringlets, big emerald green eyes, and a perfect pale complexion. Not one freckle anywhere. She, along with the other three, glared at me as I sat down, but I just smirked and cursed at them vilely in the safety of my thoughts.  
  
For some completely unknown reason, they envied my looks as much as I envied theirs. Whereas their hair was naturally perfectly curly, mine was wavy and thick as hell. Theirs was varying shades of auburn, mine was a burnished gold, or as my darling siblings preferred to call it, "Dirty blond". Their ringlets just brushed their shoulders, my waves went nearly to my hips. Their eyes were perfectly emerald, whereas mine were some odd shade of twilight blueish-violet. There skin was perfectly smooth and creamy, mine was very tan and I had a multitude of freckles on my nose and a few across my cheeks. The only thing I like about me was my size. I was a sophomore and could look almost any guy straight in the eye. I was 5' 11 1/2 , and proud of it. Alas, the tallest of my sisters measured in at just barely 5' 7. Too bad.  
  
At this point I should probably explain that my dad isn't around. Hasn't been for years. In fact, Janessa, my oldest sister, is the only one that can remember him. Of course, they all think that I was the product of a fling mom had with some other guy, and ironically, that isn't far from the truth. See, my dad is different from their dad, because our collective mother separated from their father, married my dad just long enough for him to get her pregnant, then dumped him and went back to their dad. How my sisters never figured this out, I'll never know. Probably because they didn't care enough to ask. Big surprise.  
  
Anyway, I'm not one for family dinners (with this family, who would be?) so I grabbed whatever was grabbable from my plate and ran up the stairs to my room, pretending not to hear my mom screaming at me.   
  
I locked the door (to keep out evil siblings and demon mother), grabbed my guitar and climbed out my window onto the roof. The roof was one place I could truly call my own. No sisters, no distractions, just me, my guitar, and blessed peace.   
  
Music is my escape. I don't play in a band, but I don't really feel compelled to play in public anyway. My music is one thing that belongs to me, and me alone. I create it, I play it, and I feel much better after I get all my feelings into words. That's what its really about for me: getting all the shit in my life off my chest.  
  
But tonight, I felt distracted. I couldn't get into the zone that I'm usually in when I play. When I feel that distracted, so much that music can't calm me down, I know that something's wrong. I've learned to listen when my body tells me things, and now it was telling me to do just that: listen.  
  
I strained my ears, but I couldn't hear anything. Damn. That left me pretty much one option, and I really didn't want to have to go downstairs again. But if I wanted any peace tonight, I was going to have to find out what was bothering me. And the only way to do that was to go out and look for it. So, down into the demon's pit (what normal people would call the kitchen) it was.  
  
"You little wench! How dare you show your face down here after that?!?"  
  
You'd think I'd had a tantrum or something, geez, chill out.  
  
"Go back up to your... Look at me when I'm talking to you! Hey! I'm not finished with you yet!"  
  
"On the contrary, mother dearest. I believe that you are quite finished." I retorted as I slipped out the door.  
  
"You go out that door, you don't even THINK about coming back, do you hear me?!?"  
  
But it was too late. I was gone, and if she didn't want me to come back, then I wouldn't. It was almost a dream come true. She was actually telling me to leave and never return. Who would've thought? She knew me better than she thought.  
  
"Alright, you bugger, what is it you want me to see?" I muttered as I treaded quietly through the forest behind our subdivision.  
  
Then, a sound.  
  
"What the hell is that? It sound like the friggin marching band."  
  
But no. There wasn't a game tonight, and anyway, we were to far away to hear it. No, I was hearing something, but it sure as hell wasn't a full marching band.  
  
It was drums.  
  
Drums, coming from my left. There were also footsteps, but for some reason I decided to pretend I didn't notice the person approeaching me from behind.  
  
"Who the hell would be playing drums in the middle of a freakin forest on a Sunday night?"  
  
"I believe a better question would be what, not who."  
  
I spun around. Whoever it was had an eerily quiet footstep, for it was fall, and since the leaves were falling one couldn't help but crunch as one walked. But though I strained my eyesight, I couldn't find anyone.  
  
"Where are you? Or, more importantly, who are you? And how do you know about those drums and whats playing them?"  
  
"In answer to your first question, I am right behind you." Came the voice from just over my right shoulder. I spun around again, but this time my guitar (which, incidentally, I had forgotten to take off) struck something solid.  
  
I came face-to-face with one of the oddest men I had ever seen. He was travel-worn and dirty, in worn clothes that looked like they came out of the 16th century, with a scruffy, short beard and black hair that was just above his shoulders. He had piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore right through you if you looked directly into them long enough. He wore a long sword, a short sword, a wide array of knives and daggers, a bow and a quiver of arrows. Yet, under this mysterious and rather menacing exterior, he exuded a certain serenity, and had a rather regal bearing, making him seem more like a nobleman than some mere traveler.  
  
"And in answer to your second question, I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, though most like you call me Strider. Few know my real name. You, however, know me by something different entirely, something that no one else calls me, at least not to my knowledge."  
  
I could feel my breath catch in my throat. "Watcher," I breathed, suddenly feeling quite faint.  
  
He smiled slightly. "Indeed. And in answer to your third, although I am sure it will not be your final, question, the foul creatures that are playing those drums are Orcs. They are the reason I have been sent here. Well, other than to find you, of course."  
  
"Why would you want to find me?" I asked faintly. "And wherever have you been? And why were you watching me in the first place?" my voice was getting stronger as I continued, for I was getting more confused as each second passed, and if there was anything I hated, it was being confused, and at a mental disadvantage. "And why do you need to do something about these Orc-thingies?"  
  
He held up his hands. "Slow down! All in due time, Levana, all in due time!" He was chuckling now, and I couldn't help but laugh as well, though the only thing I found funny was that we treated each other more like brother and sister than complete strangers.  
  
But my attention suddenly reverted back to the Orcs, or Orc-thingies, as I chose to call them, for they were getting closer. Aragorn had heard them also, and knelt down on the ground and started brushing away leaves to reveal a spot of dry ground.  
  
I knelt next to him. "What are you doing?" I asked, for now he was scribbling what looked like runes on the ground with a stick.  
  
"Opening a portal to get these monsters back from whence they came." He muttered, obviously distracted at the moment.  
  
"Well, how do you know that they'll just go into this portal willingly?"  
  
He looked at me then. "We don't."  
  
"Well, that's a shitty plan, if you ask me. We need to draw them to us, otherwise the neighbors are gonna notice something, or worse, the   
orcs won't go through." I sat on the ground, thinking hard about a way that I could help this thing to work.  
  
A thought hit me, and it wasn't one of a pleasant nature. "We need bait." I told him grimly. He looked down, indesicive for but a moment, then he nodded.  
  
"What do you suggest?"  
  
I grinned and held my guitar up proudly. "I could make some noise."  
  
His eyes widened. "No. No no no no no! I will not allow you to get shot by some arrow because I let you be used as bait! I refuse!"  
  
"They don't have archers, smart one!"  
  
"Oh really? And how might you know this?" he answered sarcastically.  
  
I started ticking off things on my fingers. "Well, for one, they would have shot us already, and two, I would have heard."  
  
He raised a speculative eyebrow.  
  
I sighed. "I have excellent hearing. Swords, shields, knives, bows, they all make different noises. They are carrying no wood, which means no bows."  
  
He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Fine. Make your noise, and I will open the portal. As soon as its open, jump to the other side. They should follow you. I have people waiting on the other side. They will take you someplace safe." He looked at me and shook his head. "This had better be good, little one, and it had better work."  
  
I grinned at him recklessly, "It will. Don't worry. They'll find us, they'll follow me, your dudes will kill them. Just as long as they don't kill me in the process, it will work beautifully. Trust me."  
  
He laughed slightly and shook his head. "That's what I tried not to do."  
  
I swatted him upside the head in mock anger. "That wasn't very nice!"  
  
"It wasn't supposed to be." Came the laughing reply. I laughed as well when I realized this must be what it was like to have an annoying older brother.  
  
The moment was shattered by the drums, and they were very close now, and straight ahead.  
  
"Get ready." Came the soft voice from my left. I nodded, and shifted my guitar, turning slightly towards where the portal would open so that I could leap through quickly.  
  
"And may the Valar protect us both." 


End file.
